Dancing through life

Deeltitel

She seemed unable to stand still. Holding on to one of the poles in the bus, she tapped her feet to the beat of the music coming out of her headphones. Moving back and forth, she had to refrain herself from twirling. As the bus driver pulled on to the road again, she noticed the little, white cottage with the green roof. It reminded her of her first house: the house her parents had lived in when she had been born, the house where she had crashed into the garage door because she had not yet learned how to brake while riding a bike, and the house with a chip in the bathroom door because she had offered to help carry a chair down the stairs. It had been home, that was, until her parents had decided to move, not just to a house further down the road, but to a whole new province. To an eleven-year-old girl, such decision had felt like the end of the world. It had meant transferring to a new school and leaving all her friends behind. She could still remember how mad she had been at her parents, a feeling that had lasted a long time. When they had visited their new house, and she had gotten to see her new room, which had been twice as big and certainly more bright than her old room, she had refused to smile or show any form of enthusiasm, although inside she had already been thinking about how to decorate the room. Even when her parents had showed her the big backyard with the large swing, she had kept a neutral face, which had become even harder when they had started talking about a suitable space for a dog house because getting a dog had definitely been high on her wish list. Of course, in the end, as was probably the case for all kids at that age, her parents had been able to wear her down by highlighting all the positive points of their new home, such as the playground within walking distance, the ice cream store just two blocks away, and the pond where – much to her mother's dislike – her father would teach her how to collect frogspawn and find salamanders. By the time all their furniture had been moved, and her toys and stuffed animals had all received a well-considered spot in her new room, she had come to terms with her new location and had been willing to give it a try.
Unfortunately, her acceptance had not made her any less nervous for her first day at her new school. Thinking back to that day, she could almost feel the butterflies again that had been dancing in her stomach, while she had walked onto the schoolyard with her parents. Her parents had bought her a new backpack – blue if she remembered correctly. And together with her mom, she had picked out her prettiest dress to wear. Yet, she remembered her confidence plummeting the moment she had laid eyes on the school. The building had looked daunting to her. If it had not been for her mother holding her hand, she might have just as easily turned around and walked out the gate again – a thought that had crossed her mind a little while later again when the headmaster had taken her to her classroom. While he had been talking to her teacher, she had felt twenty-five pairs of eyes staring at her. Being the centre of attention had not particularly agreed with her at that time, so she had been happy when she had been assigned a seat in the back of the classroom, allowing her to fade into the background a little.
If she would have had to describe those first few months at her new school, the term "awkward" would have been fitting. It wasn't that the other kids had been mean or teasing her, but they hadn't been very welcoming either. They had just kept their distance as if they hadn't really known how to deal with her. Funny enough, the same seemed to have applied to her teacher. Mrs. Paul had tried to involve her as much as possible. But there had been some discrepancy between the lessons being taught at her old school and the topics that they had been covering at her new school. One week to prepare her for a traffic exam, starting from scratch, must not have been easy. And convincing her that the other way of doing divisions was equally simple could not have been a walk in the park either. She knew that she had always been headstrong. And applying the new method had felt like a betrayal of her old life. When the first parent-teacher conference had come around, it had been clear to her parents that she had been struggling, both with her studies as well as with fitting in. It was at that time that her teacher had suggested to her parents to enrol her in an after-school activity, so she could do something she liked and gain some more confidence.
When her parents had discussed Mrs. Paul's idea with her, she had initially been hesitant. Before they had moved, she had played field hockey. She had followed in the footsteps of her grandfather. He had played hockey for over seventy years, actually holding the record of the oldest active player in the country. When she had started, she had shared his enthusiasm. Getting a stick to her head during the first training had not been something worth repeating, but winning her first game with 9-0 had definitely made her feel good. She had liked learning new skills and being part of a team. But as the years had passed, her teammates had progressed more quickly than she had, and thus they had moved on to new teams. Feeling left behind, she had started to consider the weekly practice more as an obligation than something to look forward to. Having an excuse to quit the team had actually been the one good thing about their move. When her parents had brought up an after-school activity, she had automatically assumed that they had meant hockey. Since she hadn't wanted to disappoint them any further, she had done her best to sound eager. Yet she hadn't fooled her parents. They had already sensed her growing reluctance towards hockey, even before the move. So instead, they had proposed that she would start something completely new, something that she really liked, and something that would be her own choice. After all the choices that had been made for her, letting her choose for herself had seemed exactly what she had needed. It had given her some feeling of control again, even though it had not been an easy choice to make. With Libra as zodiac sign, making a decision wasn't always her strong suit, especially if there were many options to choose from. And that had definitely been the case. She had considered learning to play the piano because of her love of music. But as she had become more and more conscious of her body and the fact that she had not been as skinny as the other girls in the class, she had decided that something more active would be a better choice. She had thought of swimming, but unfortunately there had been no swimming pool close by or at least indoors. And the idea of standing on the edge of a swimming pool in the freezing cold, while wearing nothing but a bathing suit, hadn't really appealed to her. If it hadn't been for the movie Dirty Dancing, she might still have been in agony about what to choose. Because of her mom's love for the movie, she had known the story of Baby and Johnny by heart. Yet, when her mom had put on the movie for the umpteenth time, she hadn't been able to resist joining her on the couch with a cup of tea. When they had started talking about spaghetti arms, learning the mambo, and doing a lift, she had known: she wanted to dance. It had been the perfect combination of her love of music and her desire to do something active. And she had already started picturing herself starring in the new Backstreet Boys clip.
It had turned out to be the right decision. Because she had enrolled right after summer holiday, all kids had been new to the class, making her no exception. They all had needed to start from scratch. And unlike hockey, it had been her classmates having trouble not to fall behind. This time around, she had been the one to beat, so to say. Not that there had been any real competition. But when it had come down to appointing solos, she had often been picked. Somehow, she had been a natural. And she had to admit, that had felt good. There had been no struggles or awkward feelings. Taking dance classes had definitely been a turning point in her life. It had lifted her spirits. And the confidence that she had gained from her dance lessons had made her more confident at school as well. Sure, she would never become an Einstein like her sister, nor had she been on the path for graduating cum laude. Yet, her grades had slowly been progressing. She still hadn't been the most popular girl in school. But fortunately, some of her dance friends had turned out to attend the same school. And whatever chance she had gotten, either during recess or before of after school, she had been sure to look them up. If they had been learning a difficult dance that week, they had used their free time to practice the routine. Otherwise, they had used the time to come up with their own dance moves. Their teacher had always encouraged them to be creative, and to her that had been the best part of the class. Even now she loved listening to new music and coming up with dance steps that matched the rhythm and emotion of the song.
She had definitely found her passion. Dance had quickly become a constant factor in her life, and when it had been time to go to high school, this time around transferring schools had been less of an issue since she had known she still had her dance family to fall back on. Sure, it had been challenging at times to find a free moment to practice, given the enormous amount of homework that had seemed to be associated with high school. But she had made it work, although she knew that not everybody would have agreed with that sentiment. She smiled, thinking back to the lively discussion at the dinner table. Her parents had just come back from a visit to her school. Her chemistry teacher had asked for a meeting since he had been concerned about her progress. Her parents had returned pretty upset, afraid that she would not be moving on to the next grade after the summer – a sentiment that, looking back, she could understand, especially since her father had actually majored in chemistry. Yet, at that time all she had been able to focus on was her father threatening to stop paying for dance classes. "It is only for now," her father had said. "Once your grades have improved, we can see about signing you up again. Perhaps once instead of twice a week. Your school work has to have priority." She remembered how she had started crying. "You can't do that," she had sobbed. "I will loose my friends all over again, just like when we moved." That had seemed to trigger her father to tone down a little. Knowing how much she had struggled after the move, he had sat down and had looked into her eyes. "No one is asking you to give up your friends. You can still see them. But perhaps a little less often." To her, however, that had been the same thing. She had been convinced that once she would no longer be going to dance class and wouldn't participate in any of the performances, her friends would start loosing interest. Dance was their shared passion. Without that, what would they talk about? What would they do?
She had wanted to avoid loosing her friends at all cost, so she had come up with a plan. With the help of her sister, she had prepared an itinerary for the week. Every hour of the week had been carefully planned. Besides school and dance lessons, she had scheduled time for homework and for her chores around the house. Even family time had been planned. When her father had first seen the itinerary, he had laughed and had been somewhat skeptical. "What, no time to go to the bathroom?" he had asked, trying to muffle a grin. But seeing how determined she had been to convince him that it would work, he had decided to give it a chance. Keeping up with the schedule from minute to minute had turned out to be quite impossible, which her farther had obviously already expected. Yet, having the schedule in place had definitely made a difference. It had made her more committed, not so much to her dance lessons - her commitment there had already been high - but to her schoolwork. She had felt a sense of accomplishment whenever an hour had finished and she had been able to look back on some actual results. And the ability to check off yet another item on her list had agreed with her as well. All in all, she had been able to make it work, that is, when it had come to combining schoolwork with dance lessons. Unfortunately, she had soon been faced with another challenge, and this one she hadn't been able to fix with simply an itinerary and some determination.
She could still remember the first time that she had felt the pain in her knee. She had never experienced any pain before, so it had made her pause her routine. However, the uncomfortable feeling had immediately disappeared and had not returned once she had continued her dance. So she had dismissed it as a incident, not worth any more thought, that was, until the pain had emerged again. And again. It had not been a constant pain, at least not in the beginning. Nor had it been a sharp pain. It had mostly been just an annoying feeling that would resurface every now and again. She had tried to ignore it for a while, hoping that she had simply sprained something and that it would go away. But when that hadn't happened, she had been forced to accept it as something more serious or at least something that she should address. So she had talked to her teacher, hoping that he could ease her mind. Although looking back she remembered the worried expression that had briefly showed on his face when she told him about the pain, he had certainly not made a big deal out of it. "Probably just an inflammation. Try some ibuprofen for a few days and see how it feels then. And just give it some rest," he had said. "Perhaps slow down on the twirls a little..." he had added with a smile. "You are a dancer, not a gymnast." Thinking back to their discussion about gymnastics had brought a smile to her face. Because she had liked trying out new things, she had opted to add some gymnastic moves to the routine – something her teacher had been reluctant about. "What's next?" he had asked. "Leotards and ribbons in your hair?" Knowing that he would nevertheless let her explore her own ways, she had simply smirked and bowed, as if she had just jumped of the bar. But because her knee had started acting up not long after her experiment with gymnastics, she had indeed toned it down a little. That decision, together with the ibuprofen, had definitely made her knee felt better for a bit. But unfortunately the pain had not stayed away for long. It had resurfaced and not just sporadically. It had become a more constant pain, triggered by even the simplest dance steps. And it had come to a point that both she and her teacher had realized that it had been time for professional help.
Going to the doctor hadn't been something she had dreaded. She simply had not had enough experience yet to have developed a fear. Even when she had been sitting in the waiting room alongside her mom, seeing the people around her with braces and crutches, it had not crossed her mind that this could be her future as well. Crutches were for sick people, she remembered thinking. And she hadn't been sick. It was just a minor inconvenience, was what she had continued telling herself. The seriousness of her condition hadn't really dawned on her until the doctor had required her to take X-rays and shortly afterwards had announced that she had arthritis in her knee. Even then, she had had a hard time accepting it. Arthritis was something for old people, had been her sentiment – not something for girls her age. The doctor had explained, however, that age wasn't a determining factor. At her age, a simple injury could have been the trigger. So it hadn't taken her long to trace her predicament back to a hockey injury a few years earlier. It had kept her of the field for a short while. But it had been hard to imagine that it could still have such an impact later in life. Although it had been nice to understand what had caused her situation, unfortunately it hadn't changed the prognosis. The doctor had made it clear that it wasn't something that would simply go away. Far from it. He had prepared her for the worst case scenario - which unfortunately had become a reality.
Initially, the doctor had prescribed painkillers, stronger than the ones she had been taking before, but unfortunately still not strong enough – especially since she hadn't wanted to give up her dancing. The doctor hadn't objected towards her continuing to dance, since movement was considered necessary for keeping the still remaining cartilage healthy. But doing things half way just wasn't her style. When she danced, she gave a 100%. And that had been a little more movement than her knee had seemed to appreciate. So after a while, the doctor had been forced to switch her onto injections, once every so many months. The idea had been that the injection would keep the pain away for several months - which had certainly been the case when they had started. But after a while the time in between shots had kept getting shorter and shorter, which had eventually resulted in the inevitable.
Thinking back to the day, when the doctor had given her the news, she could feel the knots in her stomach all over again. "I can give you another shot," he had said. "But I don't think there is much point to continue on this path." His expression had turned grave. "I think we should consider surgery." Although she had always known in the back of her mind that it could become a necessity, the actual statement of the doctor had felt like a bomb being dropped. Luckily her mom had been with her to ask the necessary questions, because her mind had gone blank. All she remembered thinking was 'now I have too give up dancing after all', which in her mind had still been equal to loosing her friends – all over again. Her mom had later described her state as one of complete shock. Even during the ride home, she had apparently remained completely silent, simply staring out the window. Just when her parents had thought she had taken a vow of silence, the ranting had started - about how the doctor must have been wrong, how they should get a second opinion, whether their parents had explored other options, and all other things that had crossed her mind. Some of the suggestions her parents had definitely taken seriously. Her dad had done some research online. Her mom had arranged for a second opinion. But in the end the result had still been the same - surgery had been her best option.
The fact that she had accepted the inevitable hadn't meant, though, that she had seen her future any more positive. As the day of the surgery had come closer, her doom's day feeling had only grown stronger. She had to give her doctor credit. He had never stopped trying to convince her that it wasn't the end of the world - telling her success stories of previous patients of his, preparing her for rehabilitation, and even trying to teach her some medical mumbo jumbo. But despite her normally positive outlook on things, this time around she had only been able to focus on the negative points, on the chances of failure, and on the worst case scenario. It had happened once. Why would this time be any different, was all she could think about. And the worst case scenario in her head had meant no more dancing and therefore no more dancing friends. Looking back she wondered how she could have been so black and white in her thinking, but at that time it had made perfect sense to her.
The surgery itself hadn't taken very long. But it had been long enough to develop that fear for doctors and hospitals after all. The smells, all the sick people around her, and the feeling of helplessness when they had driven her through the hallways in a hospital bed. She wasn't sure why it had made such an impression, but somehow it had been one of the most memorable moments - of course, that could also have been because she had been sedated for the biggest part of the day, so there weren't a lot of moments to choose from. But nevertheless it wasn't something she hoped to repeat any time soon.
Leading up to the surgery, she hadn't spent much time thinking about the days afterwards. She had been convinced that they would be miserable anyway. Having that idea embedded so deeply in her mind, it had kind of become a self-fulfilling prophecy. She didn't really know how else to describe them than dark days – literally because she had refused the curtains to be opened, but more importantly, also mentally. She had clearly been pitying herself and had turned herself into a victim. It hadn't really mattered how many people had sent get-well messages or had come by to visit. All she had been able to think about was who had not sent a message or who had only stayed 15 minutes instead of an hour - a mindset that luckily was hard to imagine nowadays. But she must have been a nightmare for her parents at that time.
At the same time, it hadn't been a complete exaggeration. Fact was after all that for a while she had been unable to do what she had loved most, which was dancing and being part of the dance community. Sure, she had spoken to her dance friends, and they had come by. But still the vibe had been different - different from being with the whole group during a lesson, having fun and stimulating each other to do more, to do better. Her parents had on several occasions offered to drive her to the lessons, so that she could at least be there. But she had known that that would have only made her feel worse, not being able to dance, feeling left behind.
Slowly her feelings of being a victim had made way for feelings of loneliness – something which she had felt less inclined to share with the people around her, but which had influenced her outlook on life just the same. Her dark days had turned into sad days, days with the curtains open this time, not to embrace the light, but just to stare out of them - of course while listening to sad songs. What she had found interesting to discover, was that regardless of her mood, she couldn't listen to a song without picturing dancers dancing to it - or more particularly, imagining herself dancing to it. So it hadn't been long before she had started thinking about dance steps and a possible choreography. First just in her head. But before she had known it, her body had joined in. It had given her a feeling of hope. Perhaps her doctor had been right after all? Perhaps she was the exception to the rule that didn't need a long recovery period? Without letting people know - partly because she had wanted to surprise them, but also partly because she hadn't wanted any well-meant advice - she had started dancing again. Baby steps at first, but quickly followed by more advanced moves. She had felt her knee acting up, but had dismissed it as her knee just needing to adjust. Without pain, no gain, she remembered thinking. She had quickly learned, though, that pain also had a purpose and that it was important to listen to one's body.
She had known the moment it had happened. The pain had been different from the one she had been experiencing before – a sharp pain, after which she hadn't been able to stand on her leg, let alone walk. There had been no other option than to go back to the doctor and confess her impatience, as her mom had called it. When the doctor had examined her and listened to her story, he had called her the poster child of the saying 'more haste, less speed', because as had to be expected, the diagnosis hadn't been good. All the progress she had made since the surgery had been reversed, whereby the doctor had even feared that they may have been back at the situation before the surgery. Although it had been hard to hear, it hadn't come as a surprise - and, probably because she had considered it her own fault, no feelings of being a victim this time around. Although she had been more certain than ever that she would never dance again, there had been a feeling of resignation instead. Self pity wouldn't do her any good, she had realized. On the contrary, it had clearly only made things worse.
Accepting her faith, she had decided it had been time for a change. If she would not be dancing anymore, she needed something else to do with her life besides studying. After all, she would have more than enough free time on her hands. Knowing it would not be an easy thing to decide upon, given her indecisiveness several years ago, she had decided not to waste any time. Using her dad as a taxi driver and with a wheelchair stored in the trunk, she had set out to the library, determined to browse through the hobby section in the hopes of getting inspired. She had wanted to go for something that she could do on her own. That way, she didn't need to be afraid about making friends and loosing them all over again. Twice had been enough.
The moment she had been rolled into the library by her dad, she had remembered - the smell, the colors. When she had been younger, she had loved to read, and she had devoured many books. As her mom had once said, she would read every book she was able get her hands on. But with school and dance, she simply hadn't had any time left to read. So after a while it hadn't crossed her mind anymore to take up a book, and her love for books had become something of the past – that was, until that day in the library. When she had entered the library, it had felt right. Browsing through the different stands filled with more books than she could count, she had felt excited again. Before long, her lap had been filled with multiple books she had wanted to read. Her sweet dad - he had simply waited until she had been done, without rushing her along or questioning her. And once the pile of books on her lap had become so high that it had been about to tip over, he had simply pushed her to the service counter and helped her with getting a subscription - probably relieved that she had found some inspiration again, and this time around something that would not affect her knees.
The days following their visit she had been reading almost nonstop. She had loved the feeling of being totally submerged in an entirely different world up to a point where she would simply forget about her own sorrows. The pile on her lap had been huge. But within days she had read every single one of those books. And so she had convinced her father to bring her to the library again. Since the wheelchair had been exchanged for crutches by then, and she had wanted to take her time and go through all the stands, she had agreed with her father that he would just pick her up two hours later.
One of the things she loved about libraries was that everybody minded their own business, simply focusing on their studies or being caught up in a book. So when Emma - as she had later found out was her name - had approached her, she had initially been slightly annoyed. Not sure what Emma had wanted from her, she knew she had been a bit terse when Emma had started talking to her about the book she had had in her hands; whether she had read it before, whether she was familiar with the author's other books, what genre she liked. Her parents had taught her to always be polite. So she had respectfully answered all the questions, although she had definitely kept her answers to a minimum. It hadn't been until Emma had mentioned something about a bookclub being organized by the library staff, that the pieces had fallen into place. Emma had just wanted to invite her to the book club. Not sure whether she would be up to it, she had told Emma 'maybe'. Yet she had still taken out the book out of curiosity. She had had some difficulty getting through the first few pages. But once she had reached the second chapter, she had been hooked. Remembering Emma's invite, she had decided to go see what the book club was all about. The book had made a real impression on her. And she had wanted to know if others had felt the same way.
When she had arrived at the book club session, she had felt a little uneasy. Not knowing anyone and it being her first time, she had been unsure about what she was supposed to do. But then Emma had appeared out of nowhere. "Hey, you came." Emma had seemed genuinely excited. She had been quickly introduced to Mary, Emma's friend. And by the end of the evening, she had not only learned that others shared her enthusiasm about the book. But she had also had a lovely time, chitchatting with Emma and Mary about all kinds of different things. They had even agreed to go see a movie together, one of those movies based on a book - which could either be brilliant or a total waste of money.
It had turned out to be brilliant - and the start of a new friendship. It was not as if they talked on the phone everyday or met several times a week. But it was nice hanging out and spending time together. She hadn't realized that it could be so easy to connect with new people; not because they had been classmates and 'forced' to spend a lot of time together, but simply because they had bonded over a similar interest, even with their lives being completely different on all other aspects. She had never realized that that would actually make their conversations only more interesting: different experiences, different perspectives. She started grinning, remembering the discussion they had had about boats. When she had expressed her envy of rich people being able to take a yacht and enjoy an amazing day at sea whenever they liked, Emma had started a whole rant about how much maintenance was required, that a boat was often more outside of the water than actually in it and how you were basically forced to spend every holiday on that stupid boat, because why else would you buy it. By the end of the discussion, she hadn't felt so envious anymore - although she was sure that if you had enough money, most of those arguments wouldn't really be an issue.
"Next stop: Lions Gate hospital." The bus driver's terse voice snapped her out of her trip down memory lane. Her stop, she realized, and she pulled the cord to signal the driver. As she moved to the door, she felt hopeful. She couldn't wait to tell the doctor how good she was feeling. It had been a long road. But with her mind being distracted by books and new friends, time had gone by more quickly than expected. And she had been able to refrain herself from dancing. She had certainly been tempted every now and again - when she heard a new song or when her dance friends had come over and showed her the latest routine. Yet she had known - from experience unfortunately - that she had to give it time, which was what she had done. She had been patient; not an easy thing for her, but she had done it. But she could feel herself getting anxious again, as she saw the hospital growing bigger through the window. She was hoping that the doctor would be so impressed by her progress that he would give her the okay to start dancing again. Her patience had been tried long enough, she believed. She wanted to dance again, not in order to fit in, but simply because of her love for dance. And it would certainly be nice to dance with her friends again, even though she had learned that they would be her friends nonetheless - even without dance connecting them.
That realization made her smile. Somehow it felt as if things would be okay again. As she stepped out of the bus, she saw the sun breaking through. 'No more dark days. No more sad days,' she thought. Today was going to be a bright day.